The Thousand Tears We Cannot Cry
by Ha-Hee Prime
Summary: The many deaths of Ironhide, as wangsted over by a distraught Prime. One chapter for each universe. Deep dark chocolate emosauce.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I can't even deal with Ironhide's death in DotM. It's more than I can handle. But this is a kind of catharsis. All the deaths of Ironhide, with buckets and buckets of wangst. Prime's POV.

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><p><strong>IDW ongoing: Fault-lines <strong>

The wall gave with a sharp, accusatory crunch as his fist slammed into it. Undeterred, Optimus Prime drew back, snarled a choked-off, guttural howl of feral rage, and hit the wall again.

It was not the wall's fault.

It wasn't even Hot Rod's fault, although here in the doubtful privacy of the corrugated warehouse that served as his current command center, Optimus was roundly cursing the fiery red Autobot.

He knew that Ironhide would - if he'd come back from that Primus-forsaken rescue mission - have said that it was all his own damn fault, and that Prime ought to let it go.

But he couldn't.

Because ultimately, it was on _his_ orders that Ironhide had been blown to scrap. Blown to scrap by humans, the very beings he felt compelled to protect. Optimus had told him to "keep an eye on the kid." He'd meant for Ironhide to serve as a deterrent against Hot Rod's spontaneous eruptions of what he was sure the young Autobot thought was bravery. He'd wanted Ironhide to make sure the kid didn't get himself killed.

So Ironhide had jumped in front of the blast meant for Hot Rod.

And now Prime was pounding new dents into the walls of his headquarters, trying to figure out how he was going to meet up with the kid without wanting to pulverize that cocky face of his.

He was trying to figure out how he would ever live with himself, after sending his best friend out with instructions that would get him killed.

And he was trying to figure out how he could be the Prime without that best friend by his side.

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><p>((Slagging comic book writers. I was SO. MAD. I can't even read this particular series; it was so blinking DEPRESSING.))<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **This bit was greatly inspired/clarified by the Shortpacked! comic page of July 20, 2011. You can find it online.

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><p><strong>TFTM: Retribution<strong>

He felt them die. As it did each time a spark from either faction was extinguished, the Matrix flared within him, leaving echoes of each bot's unique energy etched like shadows on the walls of his mind. He felt them all die: Ratchet, Prowl, Brawn.

Ironhide.

He rose with grim determination. "I'm going to need another shuttle," he said.

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><p>"No more, Optimus Prime! Grant me mercy, I beg of you!"<p>

"You who are without mercy now plead for it? I thought you were made of sterner stuff."

The Decepticon's hand twitched, and Prime fired instantly: a shot meant to wound, not kill. He didn't trust Megatron for an instant. The blast knocked Megatron's arm loose from its socket, so that it hung useless from his shoulder joint.

Megatron glared up at him as he approached cautiously.

"There's a pistol hidden behind that rock!" yelped Hot Rod, and made as if to dive into the fray to save Prime.

The red Commander barked a sharp order. "Stay back, Hot Rod. This is _my_ fight."

But even as he spoke, the gray Decepticon made a grab for the hidden pistol. He was fast, and he was subtle.

But Prime was faster. Megatron's lifeless body collapsed slowly to the ground, a smoking ruin where its head had been.

"That's for my friends, you spawn of a glitch," the Autobot said grimly.

"Gather up the troops," he told Hot Rod. "We end this _now_."

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><p>((It's dark, and maybe too dark for Prime. But boy did it feel good!))<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, remember how death by old age has entered now into my "Transformation" world? Well, Ironhide was always going to be one of the first to run down... _Waaahhhhh!_

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><p><strong>My Ficcy-verse: "Goodbye, Old Man"<strong>

To the watching bots who filled the great Memorial Chamber, Optimus's actions might have seemed a little cold. But it is probable that only his two bondmates understood just how important Ironhide's gruff friendship had always been to Prime.

He bent over the unmarked gray container, and whispered a few inaudible words. Then he shut the thin metallic lid, and handed the key solemnly into the recycling station leader's keeping.

"Make certain you waste nothing," he commanded in a low voice, carefully controlled. "To every bot who receives even the smallest bolt from him, I want you to give the message that they bear a portion of the greatest Autobot that I have ever known."

Then to the funeral assembly, he declared, "I ask you all to carry him in memory."

Then he bowed his head, and led the way toward the outer doors. To _live_ was what the gruff old mech would have bidden them all to do.

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><p>((Waaaahhhhhh!))<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **So yes, I did read, and kind of fall in reluctant love with, Borath's story, "Quits," in which... well, yeah. And in spite of all my protestations, when I'm in a movieverse mentality, there is a part of me that can't help but believe in Prime/Hide. So this, I guess, is what would happen if Ironhide was offed in the Borath-verse. (In her world, if one bondmate dies, the other follows after.)

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><p><strong>Movieverse, Borath-style: Bond-Broken<strong>

Sure, Prime had purchased an uneasy peace, rendering the black mech's storied cannons technically unnecessary. But Ironhide had been more than the punch behind the Autobots' cause. He had been the harbor in whose safety Prime had anchored his ravaged spark against the tugging tides of memory – memories of the bitter price that he had paid for bitter peace.

Now, as he felt his bondmate's spark flare up white-hot and die, his moorings tore loose and Prime's soul was cast into a hurricane of night. Adrift, Optimus cried out in the anguish of a sundered spark. His soul in tatters, he abandoned his ill-treated body, and set out amid the fog between the worlds, calling mutely for his lifemate like a body calls out to its severed limb.

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><p>((It's Borath's fault that I cried myself to sleep after watching DotM for the first time.))<p>

((Like I said, I can't deal with DotM now. But if I ever do, I'll put another chapter in here. So I'll list this thing as incomplete for now.))


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **... horribleness.

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><p><strong>Dark of the Moon: Bent and Broken<strong>

Today my father – my most trusted mentor, my exemplar – shot my best friend in the back. And it was my brother who persuaded him to do it.

I have no time to process this, no time to grieve, for even as I gaze in shock down at the pile of rust that everyone tells me was Ironhide, they tell me also that my father is preparing to destroy this world to which we've come, in order to preserve our long-lost home.

My home.

My father.

My brother.

My friends.

What can I do but strike out blindly?

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><p><em>"Why,<em> Sentinel?" I plead. "Why did you do it?" I cannot keep the grief out of my voice, the black uncomprehending grief of an unformatted newling torn to shreds.

And he tells me that I never could be mech enough to make the hard decisions, to do the necessary thing.

But why was Ironhide's death necessary? Why was it necessary for my father to betray us all? Why must the ones I trust betray me?

He tells me that his actions are for us, for our future. But what right have we to sacrifice the future of another race to save our own? What right have we to kill this shining, living planet for the sake of a home which is dying by our own hand? I wonder how we can deserve a world, if that is what we choose to do with it.

I see myself as my father sees me – as a deluded fool. I see how my brother must look at me – as a malleable tool. And I flinch to know that everything I've done – all I have given of myself – has come to this – to nothing. For all my lifetime I have fought, and by my efforts I've gained nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

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><p>I look up to the sky and see my world – my home – a thing of terror hanging over us. My home is desecrated, burning, broken. I can no longer fight to save it. I fight now to let it die; for to do so is a mercy.<p>

And so I go to fight my father – fight to save a fragile race I only partly understand.

My father is, as always, stronger than I am. He is my father.

A part of me thinks it would be relief to die, to escape the grief I know must find me soon. But unexpectedly my brother joins me in the fight against our father. And we win.

If you can call it winning.

My brother asks me for a truce. He only wants to be in charge. But I am finished letting him use me. I will not be his tool. And so I take my brother, the mech who is magnetic pole to my existence, and I tear his head off of his shoulders. If he wishes to see who I will be without him, he must watch it from the peace of the Allspark.

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><p>The teacher I revered is begging, lying pleading on the ground, asking me to understand. I cannot understand. I cannot see. Blindly, I take my brother's weapon, and I shoot my father in the face.<p>

He killed my friend.

But I have killed my family. They asked for mercy, for forgiveness; and I could not give it to them.

So who of us is better?

I honestly don't know.

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><p>((I just- I can't even- It hurt in my throat to write all this. I can't even cry about it any more.))<p>

((To all TF-dom writers: Can you for_ once_, PLEASE STOP TRYING TO BREAK PRIME? He has enough on his plate already!))


End file.
